


Crossed

by lachatblanche



Series: Dollhouse AU [30]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Consent Issues, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik tries to make sense of things following his encounter with Mystique.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossed

Erik eyed the television dully and took another swig of his beer. 

Three weeks had passed since his confrontation with Raven but he still could not come to terms with what had happened. He knew it was true – he had seen it with his own eyes, had heard her words with his own ears – and yet he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Raven, the girl who had become his closest friend and ally in his fight against the Dollhouse, was actually an insane, knife-wielding murderer who, if she had been telling the truth, now hosted over thirty-six different personalities inside her head.

Just thinking about it was enough to make him nauseous.

He had woken up, following his encounter with Raven, inside a hospital room where he had been brought and kept overnight to check for signs of concussion. He had immediately discharged himself and made his way to the police station, where he had given a report in which he revealed as much as he could without giving away the fact that he actually knew the murderer. As far as his colleagues were concerned, he had been taken aback by the sight of an unidentified blonde girl next to the body of Nathaniel Essex and so had held off from shooting her, only to be taken down along with the others upon their arrival. Erik stayed at the station just long enough to ensure that there was no way that the police could link the girl who had killed Essex with the girl who had been his neighbour, and, that being settled, he had signed himself out for an indeterminate leave of absence. He had then left the station, driven home, and promptly got good and drunk.

He hadn’t stopped drinking since.

Nor had he, in the time that he had been home, so much as looked at any of the files or notes that he had accumulated on the Dollhouse. He could barely even bring himself to look at the picture of Charles anymore. How could he, knowing what he now knew about the man’s sister? No, he decided, it was far better for him to stay on the other side of the room, ignoring the existence of the Dollhouse and getting drunk enough to remove all memory of it from his brain. And so that was what he did.

Truth be told, Erik had given up. He hadn’t said it out loud yet, but the realisation was slowly beginning to seep through his alcohol-filled haze. He had had enough. He didn’t want to do this anymore. Not now.

Not after Raven. 

And so he remained where he was, ignoring all calls, making no attempt to contact his department, and drinking himself to sleep each night, trying to drown out the fierce, angry part of his brain that raged against his current lethargy and condemned him for being a failure.

He was awakened one morning by the sound of the post arriving, clattering through his letter-box and falling to the floor with a thump. He blinked, suddenly awake, and realised that he had fallen asleep on the sofa – not an unusual habit for him these days. He blinked once and then winced as a bolt of pain shot through his head, causing him to groan and close his eyes. He stayed like that for a moment until he realised that he really ought to move and get himself a glass of water and some aspirin. That decided, he got up and moved to the kitchen. 

Two minutes later and he had drained two very large glasses of water and was feeling marginally better, although the throbbing pain in his temples hadn’t quietened much. Still feeling slightly groggy, he shuffled out of the kitchen and made his way back to the living room. As he passed, he caught sight of the pile of envelopes on his doorstep and he paused. He regarded the pile blankly for a moment before reaching down, groaning when this caused his head to give to particularly painful throb, and collecting the letters before slowly straightening and walking to his living room, where he set everything down on a table.

Then, scratching his face and yawning, he decided that a trip to the bathroom was in order and, following that, some sort of breakfast would be ideal. Not the liquid sort this time, he resolved. Hopefully he still had _something_ solid left in the fridge. Leftover takeout, maybe, if he was lucky.

He progressed through the morning in the same sort of manner, filled with lethargy and a now-constant headache. Watching television didn’t help but he couldn’t be bothered to do much else and so it was evening before he decided that further, actual sustenance was in order.

Spotting a leaflet advertising a new Chinese restaurant in the pile of post that he had brought in, Erik leaned over and snagged the pile, bringing it over to him so he could peruse it at his leisure. He sorted through the envelopes, grunting every now and then at the bills and tossing the junk mail away with little more than a snort. He was just about to do the same to one of the smaller, thinner envelopes, assuming it to be another piece of junk mail or some sort of demand for a donation, when something made him stop. He paused and looked at the envelope carefully, his heart beating loudly for some reason that he could not immediately identify.

His eye travelled down the address printed on the front and he let out a breath, seeing what his subconscious had realised moments before. 

All of his other mail had been addressed to a ‘Mr.’ Lenhsherr. This one, however, was addressed to ‘ _Detective_ ’ Lehnsherr.

All official documentation usually went through the police department. This one had been directed to his home. 

Erik hesitated. He had deliberately been avoiding anything work-related since his report following his team’s team failure to bring Essex in. He glanced down at the envelope, his expression tight. He didn’t know if he should open it. He didn’t know if he _wanted_ to open it.

For some reason, then, his eyes flicked up and, before he knew it, his gaze had fallen on the wall opposite; the wall bearing the picture of Charles Xavier. Erik stared at the picture for a long moment, taking in the soft, encouraging expression on Charles’s face. Then, setting his jaw, he flipped the envelope over and tore it open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. It had a message on it, typed out neatly: short and to the point.

_Shaw. Friday 26th. 18.00._

And then:

_End this._

Erik stared, suddenly afraid to breathe. If this was what he thought it was … 

He scrutinised the message again. There was no signature, nor any identifying mark anywhere. No way to tell who had sent it. And yet Erik knew of only one person who it could be from. But why would Raven send him another message? Why now? After the way they had parted, he had assumed that she would want to give up all ties to him. Did this mean that she needed help?

He looked down at the message again and shook his head, perplexed. It was all very well to send him a time and date but it meant _nothing_ without a location. What was the point of giving him that information if he had no way of actually using it?

It was then that he noticed a shadowy area on the paper, a faint darkness that – that made it look like there was something printed underneath …

Erik flipped the paper around. And immediately caught his breath.

There, on the back, was a map. It was a map of the city. And there, on the map, marked with a big, black cross, was –

‘Shit,’ Erik swore, his eyes wide. 

He had it. He _had_ it. There, in his hands, lay the location of the Dollhouse.

Erik’s eyes pored over the map and he swore again. He _knew_ the place. He must have walked or driven past there a hundred times or more. And all that time, he hadn’t suspected a thing.

‘Christ,’ he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Christ,’ he said again, unable to do anything else. 

He took a deep, fortifying breath.

Right, he thought. First things first.

He looked at the message again. The 26th. That was four days away. Four days … The Dollhouse could cease to exist in just under a week. The thought almost made Erik shiver. Four days … he could easily call together a tactical team and have the whole mission planned down to the minutest detail so that the Dollhouse and everyone within could be apprehended and then he would find Charles and – and – 

Erik felt his heart sink.

And Raven.

Because, he realised, there was no way that Raven would miss this. And if she was there when he and his team brought down the Dollhouse … if the men who had seen her in Essex’s apartment _recognised_ her and realised who she was …

Erik turned his face away, suddenly feeling bitter.

He couldn’t do it. No matter who she was or what she had done or what was at stake, Erik couldn’t do it. He simply could not risk Raven getting captured, even if a part of him secretly believed that it might be the best thing for her. He couldn’t risk Raven like that, not when there was a chance that she might be apprehended and charged and – Christ, she wasn’t even fully _sane_ , she didn’t know what she was _doing_ , Erik was sure of it – and Erik couldn’t let that happen. Not to her. Not to his friend. Not to Charles Xavier’s sister.

His mouth twisting in self-deprecation, he looked back down to the piece of paper in his hands. And sighed.

No, he decided, almost regretfully. He could not repay Raven for the information she had given him – that she had _trusted him_ enough to give him – by turning her in like that. She may be a liar and she may be a murderer but she had also been Erik’s friend. That friendship might not have been real for her but it had damn well been real on Erik’s part and that _meant_ something, whether he wanted it to or not.

Besides, Erik thought ruefully, glancing from the paper in his hands to the notes scattered around his apartment, he had started this investigation alone; it was only fitting that he ended it the same way as well.

That decided, he straightened up. He would go to the location marked on the map on the 26th, he would arrest Shaw, and, after making sure that Raven was nowhere near, he would call for back-up so that the police could once and for all shut down the cancerous blight on his city that was the Dollhouse.

He glanced down at his watch, suddenly feeling a sense of urgency. He had a lot to do in very little time. Surveillance, for instance. Just because he was going in alone did not mean that he had to go in blind. Not _completely_ blind, at any rate. Erik was a lot of things but he wasn’t stupid; he had time before Shaw arrived and he was damn well going to use that to his advantage in whatever way he could.

Which meant, he thought, looking down at himself with a grimace, that a shower was very much in order. And perhaps a visit to the nearest supermarket to stock his fridge up with something other than alcohol. And, if he could fit it in, a visit to the gym.

The time for inaction and self-pity was over.

He had work to do.


End file.
